


You, Me, and Everything That Doesn't Matter

by somnivagrantTraviatus



Series: Time, Space, and Other Things That Don't Matter [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Undertale
Genre: Gen, just bro cuddles, no Reader this time, you can call me hank 'cause i'm dishing out the bro-pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 06:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7032361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somnivagrantTraviatus/pseuds/somnivagrantTraviatus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The brothers deal with each other's regenerations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I said I wasn't going to write any more for this AU, but, uh. It happened. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

It had been a human, just like it always was, clutching a weapon in a twitchy hand and pretending he could take on the world from behind the barrel of a gun. 

You’d come following a distress signal and foiled yet another plot to invade and conquer this planet, one of the many populated across time by your brother’s favorite species. You'd repelled the alien invaders, had a nice long talk with the guys in charge about why they should be nice and leave underdeveloped planets alone, and were just heading back to the safety of the TARDIS when a human police force had decided to freak out about the sudden appearance of two undocumented aliens on-planet. You weren't stupid, either of you. Both you and your brother had put up your hands without argument and kept them within full view of the officers circled around you. But your brother was friendly to a fault, and when he bounded forward, chattering about how crisp and clean their uniforms looked, the rookie had spun and shot.

The air rang with silence as the Doctor crumpled. You were at your brother’s side before his knees touched the ground, but it was too late. Your hand sank into his ribs as his dust rushed to the site of the wound, and you knew, without being told, that your brother’s life was lost.

To the humans, it looked like you had appeared out of thin air in front of the one who’d shot, but in the brief moment of stopped time, you strode with all the slowness of the Reaper, letting your fury ring in the deliberate footfalls of your sneakers on cobblestone. Your eyes were empty, you knew, and a distant part of you relished in the humans’ fear as you brought the rookie down to your level with a violent spike in gravity, grin never faltering.

“ **This is why the Doc hates guns** ,” you whispered, your graveled words dropping like boulders into the silence. “ **Some _idiot_ like you gets their hands on a gun and thinks the world bows to them. Thinks the weapon in their hand means Justice, means Truth. But nah. An idiot with a gun just makes a _dangerous idiot_.** ”

In the space of a blink, you took his gun and pointed it between his eyes. Your arm was still, your aim true. The boy at your feet trembled, eyes wild, and your finger tightened on the trigger. An eye for an eye. A life for a life.

Behind you, something was beginning to glow. 

You closed your eyes and slowly, deliberately, crushed the gun in a fist. Low enough that only he could hear, you told the rookie, “ **You’re lucky I'm not willing to be an idiot in front of my brother.** ”

Tossing the gun away blindly over your shoulder, you blinked to the Doctor’s side and lifted him into your arms, crossing the circle of cops and carrying him the short distance to the TARDIS. No one was stupid enough to try and stop you, and the doors of your ship closed behind you without prompting.

Only when you were safely within the privacy of your ship did you let the tears begin to fall. “it’s gonna be okay, doc,” you promised, voice leaden in your throat, unsure whether you were trying to comfort him or yourself with the words. “you’re gonna regenerate and it's gonna be just fine.”

“SANS?” The Doctor’s voice was weak and strained with fear and pain, and so innocent, like a puppy that didn't understand why it had been kicked. “IT HURTS.”

“i know, bro, i know,” you whispered, thinking back to your own first regeneration — the memories were fuzzy, only half there, but you remembered the crash of breaking glass, and screaming, so much screaming, the terror of coming apart and burning alive in your own magic mixed with the relief that at least you wouldn't be in pain anymore and the racing knowledge that you'd lost something important and would never get it back. At least the Doctor wouldn't be alone for his first regeneration. You'd make sure of that.

“I- I’m scared,” he admitted quietly, and you made a pained noise, grabbing for his hand and running a thumb across the bones. Your brother shouldn't sound like that, so defeated and lost. It wasn't right.

His eyelids dragged themselves open, his eyes burning wisps of magic in his distress. It didn't take any effort to glow your eye in return, giving him whatever small comfort you could. “Sans? What if I'm not myself anymore?”

“sure, you'll be a little different,” you admitted, flashes of a powder blue bandanna dancing across your memory. “but, despite everything, it’s still _you_ , y’know? it’ll… you'll be fine.”

As his body disintegrated, a steady stream of dust flowed to his souls, flaring brightly within his ribcage. His legs were gone up to the knee, now. “But… What if I come back too different? What if I'm… Not Great anymore?”

You hesitated. Truth be told, you were worried, too, about the kind of person your brother would be after he regenerated. But, more than the Doctor, the title he wished desperately to live up to, he was Papyrus, your brother, your best friend, your universe. “regeneration is a lottery,” you told him sincerely, pulling your hand back away from his wrist as the bones there started to dust. “i can't guarantee the you right now would like the you you're becoming. but, no matter which regeneration you're in, no matter what you're like, you’ll always be great t’me, bro.” Blinking away the tears in your eyes, you added, “i’m always gonna love you, papyrus, no matter what. i promise.”

He was just a head, now, and a little bit of neck, floating above the suns of his souls. Even that was going fast, and you had to close your eyes against the increasing glare.

“But, Sans,” he cried, over the volume of the impending burst of flame, “what if I don't love you anymore?”

“then i’ll keep loving you twice as hard.”

The light got brighter, and you smiled blindly, pouring as much hope for your brother into your grin as you could. “see you on the other side, bro.”

He exploded.

Overflowing with dust, his souls expelled everything in a burst of magic and flame. The embers, you knew, would spiral up and out, forming the ley lines for his skull, his ribcage, and the rest of his body. The magic would wrap itself around the wire-like frame and coalesce into bone, giving your brother a new chance at life, at the expense of his old personality and appearance as he was made anew.

The rush of hot air and magic slowly died down, but you kept your eyes screwed tight as the new Papyrus explored his new face, mumbling to himself as he went.

This Papyrus’s voice was gritty, almost, like sandpaper, and when he talked, it sounded almost biting, even as he grumbled to himself about the stupidity of the rainbow scarf the other him had prided himself on. But when he announced to the air that he was ready for you to admire his new form, you couldn't help but smile as you opened your eyes. Still the same Papyrus.

_sharp_ , was your first impression of him. Where the other Papyrus had been tall and rounded, this one was tall and pointy all over, from the tips of his phalanges to the points of his wicked canines. The way he held himself was different, too, sharp like a military general instead of like a child dressed up as their favorite superhero. But the shiftiness in his eyes as he looked anywhere but at you was the same, and you recognized the familiar need for movement in the tapping of his foot. “lookin’ good, bro,” you told him without artifice, and the corners of his grim mouth twitched, like he was only barely restraining himself from smiling.

“OF COURSE,” he sniffed, folding his arms across his broad chest. “OBVIOUSLY I, THE… GREAT? NO, THE GREAT _AND MIGHTY_ DOCTOR CAN MAKE EVEN A RIDICULOUS OUTFIT LIKE THIS LOOK GOOD. I DON’T NEED YOUR OPINION TO KNOW THAT!”

“‘course not,” you agreed, grinning. “i’d never presume otherwise, o great _and mighty_ doctor.”

He nodded stiffly, narrowing his eyes like he wasn't quite sure if you were making fun of him or not. It was a very familiar look. “GOOD.”

You stood in silence for a while longer, cataloging every shift in the Doctor's movement and every changed physical feature. Finally, he huffed a sigh and stomped past you, calling, “I AM GOING TO CHANGE INTO SOMETHING LESS PATENTLY RIDICULOUS,” over his shoulder as he disappeared behind you into the wardrobe.

“heh. long as you don't change too much, doc,” you called back, setting the TARDIS to drift, destinationless, in space for a while and settling yourself back against the console. “think i’ve had enough of that for one day.”

That last had been mumbled to yourself under your breath, but your brother must have caught it anyway, because he shouted, “THAT WAS ABSOLUTELY HORRIBLE, SANS! BUT... I’ll allow it anyway. Just this once.”

You pretended to have fallen asleep. When you didn't reply, he sighed, striding back over to you and picking you up like you weighed nothing. “I suppose I'll have to carry you to your bed again, you lazy, useless excuse for an assistant,” he grumbled, but, though the words were harsher than before, the undertones of fondness were the same. Nudging open your door, he dropped you roughly on your bed, hesitating before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead and walking back to the wardrobe room. The door swung shut behind him, and you let your grin fall into something more natural, more relieved as you pulled the covers over yourself and nuzzled into the perfect hollow of your bed. Things would be different now, of course. But it was comforting to know that the important things remained the same.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for implied suicide. (He got better.)

The TARDIS was, somehow, messier than you'd left it. The lights were low, and, judging by the mug of congealed ketchup and the thin layer of dust on the console, your brother hadn't left his room in a while. You winced. He'd been alone here for far longer than was healthy, and the only one at fault for that was yourself. One more failure for the Great Doctor, you observed wryly. You'd add it to the list.

Stepping carefully over the pile of junk on the floor (was that your first scarf?), you called into the depths of the TARDIS. “sans? i, uh — it’s me.”

No response. Typical. Last regeneration, you probably would've seen it as some kind of slight that he wasn't immediately bouncing out to greet you, but then, the second Doctor had been a piece of work. He had his good points, of course he did, but you didn't think you'd hesitate in slapping him across the face if you had to stand in the same room with him for more than a minute. It was the benefit of maturity, you guessed.

Either way, you'd have to go back to Sans’s room yourself if you wanted to see him. Luckily, the TARDIS seemed to think this reunion was going to be important for you both, because Sans’s room was within easy walking distance today. You didn't know what you'd have done if you had had to find his room first. Having to solve that kind of puzzle just to find his bedroom was the kind of thing only your first regeneration could’ve enjoyed.

You cracked the door open. His room was strangely clean, like he hadn't been in it for at least a week. More realistically, though, he probably hadn't been sleeping in his own bed for the entire time you'd been away, and you swore quietly under your breath. You could barely even remember what that argument had been about, but, clearly, you never should've left him like this. 

You'd definitely fucked up.

If he wasn't in his own room, you knew, he was either hiding away from you somewhere in the the TARDIS’s furthest depths (the library of encyclopedias, perhaps, or the fifth squash court), or sleeping in your bed, too dead to the world to have noticed your arrival. The second option was the more probable of the two by far. He always came to you when he had nightmares, after all. If you knew your brother, and you did, you'd find him curled up under your covers, waiting for the world to go away and telling himself it was his own fault things had happened the way they did, that you'd never come back, that he'd driven you away. Your fingers itched to pull up the hood on your pullover. For how smart Sans was, he never could seem to grasp that not everything happened because of him. If you had been a better Doctor, a better brother, you would've been able to help him see that.

“sans?” you softly called, padding into your own room. It looked empty at first glance, but the lump under the covers said otherwise, especially when it twitched at your words. Your souls leapt at the sight. So you hadn't fucked up beyond repair, then. You sat gingerly on a corner of the bed, addressing the other end of your room so you didn't have to face the lump. “i’m back. i came to apologize.”

The room was silent, and you sighed, folding your hands into the pockets of your pullover. “i never should’ve said what i did. i — i messed up bad, and i was too scared to face what i’d done, so i ran.” Heh. Just like you always did. “you didn't deserve that. you deserve so much better than that, bro, and i’m really sorry. hope you can find it in you to forgive me.”

Phalanges hesitated, then landed on your arm. “s’not your fault, doc, don’t say that.” Your brother’s voice sounded lower than usual, a little deeper and grittier. It was probably the tears. “i pushed you too hard. went too far. if i just -”

“hey.” You interrupted him, hearing the familiar strains of self-directed anger in his voice and hating them. “if it wasn't my fault, it wasn’t your fault either. yeah? we fought. it happens. it was bad, and we both said things we shouldn'tve, but it's over now. i’m back, and i’m not gonna leave you like this again. ever.”

There was silence. Then, hesitantly: “y’promise?”

The word was heavy in your mouth, but you barely paused. “promise.”

“‘kay.”

A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. You didn’t know why you had worried about this. Sans was your brother; of course he'd forgive you. Still, the relief was dizzying, and you turned to him, eager to really talk with him again.

The words died in your mouth. This wasn't the Sans you had left. The difference in his voice, the film of dust over the console — of course. You should've known something like this would happen. He’d always been… fragile, and after that trip he didn't want you asking about, he'd only gotten worse. 

(You remembered what had started the argument, now. The pangs of fear and helpless worry that he'd changed too much, become too bitter, someone you couldn't save. He'd said that you were only being selfish, that you were hoping his problems would evaporate so he could go back to being your dependable rock and stop being such a drain to be around. Doors had slammed, and you'd walked out, shouting that if he didn't want to deal with you trying to take care of him, he wouldn't have to anymore.)

He shifted, uncomfortable with your eyes on him, and your gaze was drawn to the points of his teeth, so similar to your second regeneration’s; the white fur of his hood, fluffier than either the thick blue one he'd always worn or the heavy black cowl he'd put on before that trip and never taken off. He looked a bit like a frightened cat, like this, all puffed up and trying to be intimidating, and the thought turned your nonexistent stomach. Fear like that had no place anywhere near your brother. Especially when you were the one to put it there.

“if you're gonna say something stupid, just do it already,” he bit out, crossing his arms and looking away. “yeah, i regenerated. so sue me.”

“nah,” you answered. “sounds like too much work.” Reluctantly, he grinned, and you dropped away from the eye contact, feeling overwhelmingly guilty. “sorry i wasn't there. your first, right?” You had been so scared during your first regeneration, worried about losing yourself, losing your brother. Thinking about him going through that alone, on an empty ship… God, you should never have left.

He shifted by your side again, reaching up to wipe the tears from your cheeks. “nah. second, actually,” he muttered.

Second? 

He retreated into his coat at the look on your face, mumbling into the collar so he didn't have to meet your eyes. “first was back home. you wouldn't remember it.”

You cast back desperately to your childhood on Gallifrey, trying to remember a day your brother came back different and coming up blank. “did it have to do with dad?”

“yeah.”

You nodded. The idea that the two of you had had a father once, back on Gallifrey, made you just as uncomfortable now as when you had first found out, in the early days of this regeneration. But, even if you couldn't remember the slightest thing about him, it was still comforting to know that you had someone else looking after you. “was i… y’know. there for it?”

The pause was torturous. A small eternity passed before Sans finally shook his head. “nah,” he choked out, trying so hard to sound casual, “but it was fine, i managed-”

You cut him off with a small, sad sound in the back of your throat, practically leaping on him in your haste to bundle him into your arms. He flinched at the contact, and you mentally berated yourself, drawing back to give him a little space. Sans hadn't had any sort of contact in _months_ , idiot, and this version of him had never been touched at all; of course he wouldn't be okay with the easy affection you were used to! But he nuzzled back into your chest almost immediately, seeking out your warmth, and you let yourself curl around him, surrounding your brother completely. “i am never, _ever_ gonna let you regenerate alone again,” you promised fiercely. 

He shuddered against you, drops of wetness soaking through the thick fabric of your pullover as he finally let himself cry, and you squeezed him tighter, smiling despite the heaviness in your souls when he squeaked at the sudden pressure. Your problems wouldn't just go away because of a hug, you knew. You'd have to get used to each other all over again, settling into a new dynamic and learning how to trust each other better. But you'd do better this time, and he would, too; you believed that with both your souls. Nothing could stand between the two of you for long, not even yourselves.

He was your brother. And that would always be what mattered.


End file.
